


bruised with black and blue

by toothpasteumbrella



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, bedwars is an underground fighting ring, inspired by far2late's bedwars idea, purpled-centric again awooga, yeah i think its edgy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:09:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27960551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toothpasteumbrella/pseuds/toothpasteumbrella
Summary: “I’d… prefer it if you guys left.”“No way--” Tommy blurts. “You’re, like, fucked up! What happened, man?”Purpled’s grip stiffens, looking away. He doesn’t want to see their pity.“Really, we just want to help,” Tubbo adds quietly. “This is worrying, Purp.”“I don’t need help,” Purpled snaps, and his dog whines. “I’m fine. I’ll be fine.”“‘Be fine’? Has this happened before?” Tommy’s tone is edged, fists curled.“Please,” Purpled chokes out, voice strained. “Just… leave.”Tommy opens his mouth to contest, but Tubbo reaches to tug at his shirt. The two turn to leave, though Tommy lingers for a second after Tubbo does. He pauses to say something, and Purpled gives him an almost hopeful glance.But Tommy doesn’t say anything; doesn’t give Purpled the relief of saying what he wants to hear.And he leaves. Just as Purpled said to.
Relationships: Andrew | gamerboy80 & Grayson | Purpled (Video Blogging RPF), Grayson | Purpled & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 38
Kudos: 486





	1. 1.

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [but my mind still says redundant things (can i not think?)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27606272) by [far2late](https://archiveofourown.org/users/far2late/pseuds/far2late). 



> inspired by far2late's "bedwars is an underground fighting ring" concept but imagine i took that concept and squished it like a clay ball  
> i have no idea what the funny little "this work is inspired by" button does ! pls tell me how this shit works bro i Dont Know i am but a measly cretin  
> more gamerboy80 in this one !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! i love that man  
> ok (disappears)
> 
> (REMATIERALIZES) OH WAIT theres more details of purp being injured, no detailed violence or heavy gore, just injuries . ok now (disappears)

Purpled tapes bandages around his knuckles. (Though he knows they’ll still be bruised.)

He double-knots his sneakers. (Though he knows they’ll come undone.)

He flips his hood over his face. (Though he knows he’ll be recognized.)

And he slips under again.

It’s rowdy and dim and smells of smoke and booze. There’s shouting as people push each other around and pretend to accidentally trip others. Vibrant, glaring neon lights swerve along the audience. It’s stuffy and crowded, but he knows his way.

Purpled presses his back against the concrete wall, instinctively holding his breath. 

He knows he’ll be called for. He has been for every night, now. He’s on the leaderboards, and with how many stars again? 

(He’ll be bidded on. Not that any of the money goes to him.)

“Over here, Purp,” a voice chimes quietly. Purpled is more than relieved for it to be familiar.

He inches against the wall, dipping into a darker corridor split off from the audience. Gamerboy80 waves at him, a package of bandaids in his offhand as he leans against the alleyway wall.

80 looks battered; hair messed and a tissue plugging his nose from bleeding. There's darker spots of scarlet on his gray jacket, and his breath hasn’t entirely steadied. But Purpled’s seen him worse before.

“Are you cleared for the night?” Purpled’s voice is barely above a whisper as he shuffles closer. 

“Not sure. I think they’ve been waiting for you.”

Oh. Purpled doesn’t like that. 

He glances farther down the alleyway; seems like this is where most of the fighters are hiding-- leaning against the wall, sitting. Astelic and Sammy are chatting lowly. He winces when he hears the distant sob of a young girl.

“Doubles? 4v4’s?” asks the boy, fingers subconsciously playing with the hem of his hoodie.

“Singles.”

That’s a relief. Purpled can handle singles. 

That relief doesn’t last long-- he hears his name being shouted; being announced, hears the way the crowd hollers. The two turn to the noise and stiffen. 

80 sighs. “Hurry on and join the lobby before they drag you.” (It’s not a hyperbole. They’ve done it before.)

“Stay safe, man.”

“You too.”

Purpled’s stomach churns as he waves goodbye, dipping out of the alleyway and making his way into the ring.

He curls his fists, braving himself.


	2. 2.

Purpled places a bandaid on his arm, letting out a hiss as he places an ice pack on his cheek. He’s home, finally. Rays of sun filter through the glass pane and softly illuminate the bed he sits on. 

It’s warm inside his home. His dog is curled and sleeping soundly beside him; mutton roasting above coal in his furnace. He’s so, so glad to be home.

(His bruises match his eyes.)

He stands up to do some stretches, grunting with soreness already creeping up his form. A hot bath would be nice; loosen up the muscles. He rolls his shoulders a bit.

(Bandages wrap all around his ribs; cuts and stab wounds simmering under the surface of his oversized hoodie.)

There’s a knock on his door. Tubbo calls out his name.

(Purpled doesn’t want him to see him like this.)

Tommy’s voice pipes up, too, and Purpled stiffens.

(Oh, no.)

He freezes, glancing to a mirror. He looks thoroughly screwed up. They’re not supposed to see him like this. No one is.

But his door is unlocked, and the two come barreling in with giggles and smiles. Purpled is frozen, eyes glued on the door. 

The three stare at each other in silence; smiles wiped off Tubbo and Tommy’s expression. 

“Purpled, what the fu--”  
“Holy mackerel, what happe--”  
“I--” 

Everyone’s words become jumbled

“Hold on, hold on-- I have healing potions--” Tubbo pipes, beginning to rummage through his bag.

“No-- please, no.” And Purpled’s arm reflexively clutches his stomach.

Tommy and Tubbo look at him quizzically.

(They chug those down his throat in between rounds. He can’t take another one. Those potions taste bitter, now-- make him sick to his stomach just at the thought of them.)

“Just-- not a healing potion. Please. Or anything like it.”

Tubbo holds his hands up defensively. Concern is written all over the two’s faces.   
Purpled lets out a shaky sigh, reaching to a glass of water on his bedside.

“I’d… prefer it if you guys left.”

“No way--” Tommy blurts. “You’re, like, fucked up! What happened, man?”

Purpled’s grip stiffens, looking away. He doesn’t want to see their pity.

“Really, we just want to help,” Tubbo adds quietly. “This is worrying, Purp.”

“I don’t need help,” Purpled snaps, and his dog whines. “I’m fine. I’ll be fine.”

“‘Be fine’? Has this happened before?” Tommy’s tone is edged, fists curled.

“Please,” Purpled chokes out, voice strained. “Just… leave.”

Tommy opens his mouth to contest, but Tubbo reaches to tug at his shirt. The two turn to leave, though Tommy lingers for a second after Tubbo does. He pauses to say something, and Purpled gives him an almost hopeful glance.

But Tommy doesn’t say anything; doesn’t give Purpled the relief of saying what he wants to hear.

And he leaves. Just as Purpled said to.


	3. 3.

The boy feels woozy. Everything is a blur.

80 is helping him walk; Purpled’s arm wrapped around his shoulder. He clutches an injury on his stomach; leg limping as he trudges along.

Blood trickles behind the two.

“Slow breaths, man,” 80 murmurs, leading him out of the alleyway. “Don’t strain yourself. I’m here.”   
Purpled can barely nod. 

“One step in front of the next.” 80’s comforting words barely reach the boy.

The two avoid flickering streetlights; 80 careful to dodge potholes. Purpled nearly trips a few times as the two escape farther away from the rings. 

The man’s voice is almost incomprehensible with how quiet he is. Almost. “I’m sorry.”

\--

Purpled knocks once, then twice, on Tommy’s door. It’s past midnight; he doesn’t expect an answer--

Until it swings open, and the pouring lights from Tommy’s house nearly blind him.

“H-- heeey, Tommy--” Purpled gurgles out, still clutching his stomach. He’s nearly keeled over, though he tries to maintain eye contact with the boy. 

Tommy catches Purpled before he falls over, fingers twitching. The blond bites his tongue, leading him inside. 

Tommy’s bed is upstairs, so he apologizes quietly when he slumps Purpled onto the couch. The other is too dazed to notice; drying blood seeping through his purple sweatshirt. His hair is messed, too; and spots of blood decorate his sneakers up to his cheek. 

“I’ll-- I’ll get you some water, man. And some bandages. Just sit tight.”

“Thanks.”

“It’s human decency, really-- you don’t have to thank me.”

That silences Purpled for a while. 

Tommy turns heel, concern wracking his thoughts. His sneakers press against his flooring, eyes frantically scanning chests for healing materials. Though his mind is clouded and his blood is pumping, he manages to nab bandaids, bandages, and cotton swabs.

“I’m surprised you’re up,” Purpled comments through a strained and low voice.

“Up on a call with some friends,” Tommy admitted, easing slightly. He holds a glass under his sink, filling it with tap water. “You came just in time.”

Purpled laughs (though it hurts his ribs to, and he grabs at his own sweater from the pain) “Did I? Nice.”

Tommy doesn’t know if the relaxed tone Purpled is using makes him feel worse. He makes his way back to the slumped boy, hands clutched onto the items.

“You’re… gonna have to take off your sweatshirt. If I’m gonna help. Is that, uh, alright?”

Purpled pauses. “I…” 

(This oversized sweater makes him feel safe. It hides all the ugly parts of him. Hides what happens in the rings.)

His fingers tremble over the hem before he begins to take it off.


	4. 4.

(Purpled’s chest heaves with heavy breaths. His feet sting, and he can only tense his sweat-slickened grip on his blade. 

Everything in the arena is oversaturated-- bright, _mockingly_ bright colors bouncing around as the boy swerves his head. Running footsteps, directly south.

The roars of the audience sink through his headpiece; the boy kicking up sand as he turns around to his attacker. He ducks-- left, then right-- as the furnished iron blade lunges towards his chest. He hops onto a ledge, barely managing to skid past another thrust of the other kid’s blade. Purpled stabs his sword into the competitors back, kicking them into the sand as they fall limp. 

In through the nose, out through the mouth. Purpled’s attempt to steady his breath falls short. 

He’s here, again-- the same place he always is. Again.  
  
Angry tears form in his eyes as a victory screen hovers over the arena.)

  
  
Purpled pushes himself up with a groan, hovering his hand over his ribs as a sharp pain sears through his stomach. His hand clutches on the couch he lays on, and he notices the blanket fallen by his legs. Must have shaken it off in his sleep. 

  
He’s wearing his black t-shirt-- purple sweatshirt draped on a table next to the couch. There’s a glass of water sitting neatly next to it. Purpled idly notes Tubbo’s jacket is hanging on the coat rack next to the door.

  
  


(“They’re calling you in for another round, Purp.”

Purpled’s head shoots up.   
  
“What?! Wh-- huh? What? They can’t! I-I-- I already-- fucking did _five_ rounds! What the hell?” 

80 meets Purpled’s shattered gaze with a sympathetic one. His voice is quiet. “Did you take a healing potion?”  
  
“I don’t want to drink that shit,” Purpled spews. When he speaks next, it sounds close to a sob. “Tastes horrible. Makes me wanna throw up.”

“Sorry, man. Least take a gapple? You gotta heal up.” Gamerboy80 tosses the glimmering apple to Purpled.

Purpled catches the apple, fingers tense around the corrupted fruit. He nearly shoves past 80, a spiteful anger fueling his bleeding body.

“Stay safe,” 80 says, as he always does when they depart.   
  
There’s a pause, and Purpled stops in his tracks. “You too, man.”)

Purpled reaches for the water, lifting his head slightly as he hears someone descending down the stairs. 

“Oh, you’re awake!” Tubbo voices, still halfway down the steps. He skidders the rest of the way down, glancing to Tommy’s kitchen once he reaches the bottom. “Uh, I can ask Tommy to make toast, if you want it.”

“No need, thanks.”

As if summoned by his name, Tommy follows suit after Tubbo. “I grabbed bandaids! You don’t think you, like, broke anything, right?” 

“Hopefully not. That’d suck.”  
  
“I think it’d-- I think breaking a bone is, like, a _little_ worse than that,” Tommy laughs.

  
  
  


(“Purpled--” 80 lets out a startled yelp as the boy practically collapses onto him. He mumbles something, and 80 asks him to repeat.

“Am I done? Can I go home?” 

80 stiffens as the fractured words barely reach him. He returns the hug when Purpled wraps his arms around 80’s waist for support, helping the boy stay standing.   
  
“Yeah, man. You’re done. It’s over. We can head back.” )

“I know you don’t want us to prod,” Tubbo starts, shifting slightly. Purpled stares at the glass water in his hands. “But this is… life-threatening. Like, whatever it is, it’s-- it’s, really bad, Purp.”

“Yeah. I know. I-- I just--”  
  
“Who was that guy--” Tommy blurts, making the other two turn to him. “that brought you here? The dude with split hair?”

“80,” Purpled responds, fingers tensing around the glass. 

“Can we call him?” Tubbo suggests. “We get that you don't want to really... talk about it.”

"If you have his number, of course," Tommy chimes in. 

(80 looks like he's knocked out cold, slumped against the wall of the alleyway. The only thing indicating he's alive is his fluttering eyes and his thumb rubbing circles into an empty potion bottle. 

"You okay?" Purpled asks, though he knows the answer. 80 was accustomed to the rings; used to the physical brutality within those arena walls.

The man summons enough will to sit up, letting out a murmur as his empty hand reaches to rub his temple. "Sick of this."

Purpled lets out a low hum of agreement.

  
  
“Sick of this,” 80 repeats, the grip on the potion daring to shatter it. “Tired of just scraping by, just saying to get through it for now.”

Purpled glances to 80, now, who’s hair is so messed it’s fallen into his eyes. He’s never heard him talk like this. 80, who was used to the rings. Who had endured longer than any of them here.

“I’m sick of it.” And he throws the glass down onto the concrete, shattering it with trembling fingers. The sound is sharp before it’s drowned out by the outside cheers.

Purpled’s never seen gamerboy80 cry. He still hasn’t, really, but with the way the man clutches his torn, blood-soaked jacket, he’s sure beneath the deafening crowd he could hear a sob. )

Purpled blinks, fingers twitching on the glass, before fishing his phone out of his pocket. 


	5. 5.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hehehe

80’s phone buzzes; the loud ringing noise surprising him as he takes off his cap.

  
“Conveniently timed,” he murmurs, picking it up as he waves goodbye to his coworkers. His gaze glosses over the contact; quickly accepting it.

80 hurries out of the Domino’s backdoor, hands fumbling for his keys as he holds his phone to his ear.

“What’s up, Purp? Need anything?”   
  


“Are you… uh, gamerboy80?”    
  


Unfamiliar voice, but young. 

“Are you one of Purpled’s friends?” he questions back, turning his car keys to unlock his door.

“Oh, uh, yeah. He’s with us here, actually--” Another unfamiliar voice, still young. “Purpled, can you, like, say something?”   
  
“‘Sup, 80.” Distant, but distinguishably familiar. 80 let out a sigh of relief, sliding into his car seat. 

“Alright, yeah, I’m gamerboy80. Do you need something?”

“We sort of met, yesterday night. Uh-- you dropped off Purpled by my house. Oh, I’m Tommy, and I’m here with Tubbo. We were… uh, concerned. As to what happened. Why-- why was he so injured?”

80 leaned back in his seat, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. “Does Purp not wanna tell you?” 

“I do,” he hears Purpled pipe up. “But I just thought you would be… better to contact.”

The man let out a hum, sitting up and sliding his keys to start his car. He puts the call on speaker mode and places it beside him as the old car revs up. Gripping the wheel, he turns his head to look behind him as he backs out of the parking spot. “Ever heard of Hypixel?”

  
  


(“You have a phone, kid?”

Purpled stares at the man quizzically before responding. “I do.”

“In case you need something, want my number? I can give you Chaz and Astelic’s, too.”

The boy’s purple gaze is dubious-- untrusting of 80.    
  
80 held up his hands defensively. “Won’t do anything bad with it, pinky-promise. You can call me if you need tea the morning after you come here.”   
  
Reluctantly, Purpled opens up his phone. 80 is sure he’ll delete it by tomorrow.)

“Hypixel?” Tubbo repeats, looking down at the phone as 80’s voice chimes through.

“That’s what it’s called. It’s a fighting ring. People come in, place bets on who’s gonna win in the games, and either get money or lose money from it.”

“Like those… dog-fighting rings?” Tommy voices, voice quivering. The living room is filled with afternoon sunlight. 

“Bingo.” Behind 80’s voice, the three of them can hear the car rumbling. “But instead of dogs, it’s us.”   
  
“Us?”

“80 and I,” this time, it’s Purpled who speaks. “We’re the dogs.”   
  
(“So.” Purpled bites into a golden apple. “You still haven’t told me why you’re here. In a place like this.”

The two of them are tucked far behind the entrance of the alleyway. Purpled sits on top a wooden crate, legs swinging as he sits across 80.   
  
It takes a while for the man to respond; trying to steady his breathing and wrapping bandages around his leg. 

“Medical bills. Have to pay ‘em off.”   
  
“Oh.” Purpled pauses. “Have you, yet?”

“Not yet. Hoping to get a promotion from my day job." 

“You work?”

“Two jobs. One’s on-campus.” Gamerboy80’s replies are short, mustering his energy into healing himself.

Purpled slows his chewing of the apple. “That sucks.” Gamerboy80 seems to appreciate his blunt tone as he lets out a dry laugh. “I hope you can pay it off, though.” He adds, more sincerely.

“I appreciate it.”)

“That’s… super fucked up. And how long has-- how long have you been doing it?” Tommy turns to Purpled, now, eyes wide.

“I-- two years? Three?”

“And… you want it to stop, right?” Tubbo speaks up. “You don’t want to continue going?”   
  
A heartbeat passes, then two. “Well--” Purpled starts, voice failing him. He stares at the two of them, eyes watery.

There’s a silence.

Does he? 

He does, so desperately bad. He hates nothing more than those gruesome games; the scared eyes of the other competitors. The tax on his body.

But it’s all he knows. Would the people controlling the games search for him? Would bidders stalk him? What about the others? His friends? The other competitors, forced to endure the same shit he has? And-- and, what about 80? Would he ever be able to pay off his debt without--

Gamerboy80 lets out a sigh. “You don’t have to worry about me, Purp. If you want to hightail it outta there,” he pauses. “I’ll help you.”

“ _ We’ll  _ help you,” Tubbo enunciates, smiling to Purpled. “Whatever it takes.”

He doesn’t know what’ll happen.

But he does know he wants to get out. 

Hot tears stream down the boy’s face. He sniffles, reaching to wipe his tears and cover his red face with his arm. “Thank you. Thank you, guys. Really. Fuck, man-- thanks. But-- but, we gotta get the other people out. I-- I think… I think we have to end it. Once and for all.”

“Ambitious,” 80 notes, as if Purpled hadn’t just said the most cliche and nearly-impossible thing ever.    
  
But maybe he needs some of that ambition. Nearly-impossible still has a shot.

“Can we do it?” Tommy sounds far more dubious. “Like-- is that physically possible?”

Gamerboy80 thinks on it for a second. “Maybe. But that’s enough to try."  
  
"If I'm getting outta there," Purpled starts, a grin spread wide across his face. "So is everybody else."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and thats a wrap!
> 
> i think it is criminal that i cannot like comments on ao3. just know i have read every single one and each made me very very happy. i am very glad you all enjoyed this! love u, stay safe


End file.
